


A Single Speck of Dust

by VSSAKJ



Series: Dust Off the Peak [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Fire Emblem 7 References, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSSAKJ/pseuds/VSSAKJ
Summary: While chasing down rumours regarding Daud, Billie Lurk saves a drowning member of the Abbey from the sea. It was not something she expected of herself; nor, it turns out, could she have predicted the things that followed.





	A Single Speck of Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an exercise writing pairs of characters whose names started with random letters (b+l) and became a lot more than it really had any right to. This has the potential to go further, but I'm uncertain I will complete it.

No one was more surprised than Billie when she hauled a sputtering, flailing woman from the sea. Billie knew herself, and she wasn’t a soft person—she knew what it was like to struggle and fail, as well as what it was like to struggle and survive. She didn’t pity anyone.

She couldn’t figure out why she did it.

The sodden heap of clothing coughed violently on the deck of the Dreadful Wale, shuddering against the wooden boards beneath her body despite the water and spittle flooding its surface. Eventually, when she started to inhale horrible, wheezing breaths, Billie crouched down alongside her and gingerly thumped her back, murmuring, “Come on, come on, I didn’t pull you out of the sea just to have you die on my ship.”

She got the impression her stranger might have smiled if she could, but instead she just continued coughing, her whole body shaking with the effort. Eventually, the fit got the better of her and she went still against the deck, unconscious.

Billie moved her efficiently, supporting her head while rolling her onto one side. She remembered, from days long past, to extend one arm beneath the head and let the other rest along the trunk of the body. She leaned down near enough to feel the weak, warm breeze of breath against her ear, then stood and looked across the deck, frowning. She didn’t really have _time_ to worry herself about this stranger while they were sailing, and much as she’d rather not leave her exposed while unconscious, Billie was her entire crew, and there was a ship to run. Sighing, she seized the nearest tarpaulin from its storage space, tucked it around the unconscious woman, and thudded back to the wheel.

 

In the end, Billie couldn’t bring herself to press much further with the body so prominent on deck. She eased the Dreadful Wale into the first cove she came to, cut the engine, and dropped anchor. There was really too much daylight left to retire for the day—especially with her supplies in the state they were—but she told herself she’d get an early start in the morning.

When Billie returned to her stranger’s side, she realised two things: first, that the woman couldn’t possibly be from the Isles, and second, that the woman was almost certainly a man. The feel of him, over her shoulder with her arms wrapped securely around his legs, was decidedly flatter and straighter than the shape she’d expect from even the thinnest woman. She carried him belowdecks, pausing only at the bottom of the stairs to run through her options. The spare bunk proper had been occupied, until recently, by runaway Empress Emily Kaldwin during her fight to retake the throne. That had been months ago, but not enough of them.

Besides, her unconscious stranger was shivering.

Billie carried him into the galley kitchen and laid him down gently on the bunk that had, for a time, belonged to Alexandria Hypatia. She hesitated only a moment before unwrapping the tarpaulin and peeling away the man’s clothing—she paused at his smallclothes, but in the end removed them too. If she wanted him to survive this, he had to be warm and dry as soon as possible. She remembered what the alternative looked like.

She hauled the tarpaulin and wet clothing to the floor before arranging them carefully in front of the galley’s coal stove; then she strode into the spare bunk room and collected the blankets folded away inside the bolted-down chest. Three of them would be plenty; back in the galley she forced one under the naked man, stuffed one between his body and the metal wall, and wrapped the third one around him like a shell.

Only then did she examine him properly.

He was pale, paler than some dead bodies she’d seen. If the shape of his jawline and eyes hadn’t been so foreign, she might have been more worried—instead, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, she decided that such a pallour might be a healthy colour for this stranger. His hair, now that it was beginning to dry, was pale too, so light a blonde that Billie could only think it reminded her of sunlight. She pinched her own wrist in disgust for the thought.

She’d spared a thought for his modesty, but that hadn’t been enough to keep her from seeing the long, straight marks on his back—old whipping marks, evidence of abuse long-since ended. The large bruises peppering his torso, ribs, and thighs, had been fresh. Billie rested her hand atop his chest, rolling her lip against her teeth. She’d recognised the Outsider’s mark emblazoned above his heart, of course.

She had questions, but a sleeping man wasn’t going to answer them. Billie pushed herself upright and moved towards stove to cook.

 

Billie startled to find herself waking to the sounds of discomfort. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and her back twinged as she straightened up on the stool she’d dragged over to the stranger’s bedside. But it was darker than the Outsider’s eyes outside, and she gauged it to be some hours past the middle of the night. If she’d slept, however uncomfortably, she couldn’t blame herself.

The stranger gave a pained moan, and Billie rose to step towards the stove; it had cooled in the galley and she wasn’t yet certain if she wished to engage with the stranger. On the other hand, she thought as she roused the coals to glowing, she should at least try to determine if he was feverish or becoming ill. She didn’t have the facilities to be playing nursemaid. When she turned and rose back to her full height, the stranger was lying on his back with his eyes open.

With few other options available, Billie simply said: “Pleasure to meet you.”

He didn’t startle—that surprised her. He shifted his gaze slightly to take her in, and then spoke softly, “Did you save me?”

“I pulled you outta the sea if that’s what you mean.” Billie replied brusquely, turning her back. He’d need a hot drink, she decided, placing the heavy-bottomed kettle on the stove. “I don’t know if that’s saving.”

“It’s better than drowning.” He said simply, smiling to himself. Over her shoulder, she watched the motion of a hand skimming along himself beneath the blanket, pausing at the place where Billie had seen the Mark. He sighed, then, and his hand moved away. Under his breath, he whispered, “Light help me.”

Stranger and stranger. Billie reached for a clean mug and cleared her throat, “I’m Billie. I don’t have much coffee, but there’s still half a tin of tea leaves. You should drink something.”

“Tea is fine, thank you.” He pushed himself into a sitting position, rearranging to blanket to keep most of his skin concealed as he did so. He didn’t blush, but sounded embarrassed, “Is my clothing… ?”

“I don’t think it’s dry yet.” Billie turned around with the tea and walked back over to her stool, passing it to him before she sat down. He sniffed and then sipped the tea, keeping quiet, so she prompted instead, “So, who are you?”

“My name is Lucius.” He looked down into his mug of tea for a moment, studying the little swirls of steam. He exhaled into the heat and said nothing further.

Billie pushed herself back to her feet, going back over to his clothing and pressing her single palm into it. Still wet; she wrinkled her nose and wiped her hand dry on her trousers. “I can give you some of mine until yours dry. No pretty dresses or fancy collars, just working clothes.” Despite the other strangenesses, that comment seemed to be the one which struck his complacency, and his cheeks coloured slightly. Embarrassment, or anger? Billie wasn’t sure, but she suspected the latter—another surprise. She went on. “I need to go in for supplies the next port along, and from there you can go wherever you want. I won’t keep you any longer than I have to.” She said it as though that was for his benefit, not her own.

Lucius dipped his head, his long hair falling forward with the motion. “Thank you for your kindness, Billie. May the Light bless you.”

The Light again. Billie hadn’t heard of it, but he _was_ foreign. The strangest foreigner she’d ever met. By the doorway to the galley, she turned back to him and gave an acknowledging motion with her stump. “No need to bless me. Get some rest. I don’t need any help running the ship so just take it easy for a while.”

Lucius blinked peacefully at her before bringing the mug back to his mouth.

 _Should’ve told him to keep outta the way._ Billie thought as she ascended the stairs to her cabin.

 

Billie didn’t see Lucius until some three hours after they set sail in the morning, once the sun had fully risen and they were well underway. She saw him walk carefully onto deck, uncertain on his feet, and lifted her stumped arm to accompany her shout, “Oi, Lucius!” He looked in her direction, then moved towards her. Billie wanted to describe him as clambering and clumsy—he looked perilously uncomfortable as the waves rocked them back and forth—but he had an ease to his step and seemed serene despite his unbalancings. She didn’t like it.

He’d redressed in his own clothing, despite the salt stiffening the material. Billie could identify the regalia of a devout from the Abbey of the Everyman, but she found that more confusing than ever—though the Abbey did nothing but slander him, the only thing of worship it ever mentioned was the Outsider. As Lucius came near enough that she could speak without shouting, she asked, “Rest well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Lucius dipped his head, hesitating a moment before he added, “I can’t remember the last time I was on a ship. It’s more comfortable than I would have imagined.”

“Yeah?” Billie paused for a long moment. It wasn’t any of her business, and she didn’t need to know. But on the other hand, she didn’t want a _complete_ stranger living on her boat for the next several days. At least if he sounded dangerous, she could push him overboard without feeling guilty about it. He’d been doomed before she came along anyway. “Then you must have come to the Isles pretty young.”

Lucius gave her a look, studying her deeply in only a moment; it made Billie shiver. Then he smiled, “Yes, as a small child. I was raised in an Abbey, down the coast south of Driscol.” He said it like someone who’d been raised in the Isles, muddling ‘Driscol’ into one long slur. “They always said I was too gentle to ever be an Overseer, and that I’d have to leave them eventually. I didn’t imagine it would happen this way.”

There was no point in ignoring it, so Billie raised the issue directly: “No one expects the Outsider to mark them.”

Lucius met her gaze and nodded once. “Indeed.” He looked away, across the water, and Billie took the moment to readjust their course. They weren’t far enough from land that she could afford to ignore their route, but they weren’t close enough that the conversation was a dangerous distraction. Lucius fastened his hands together and went on, sounding a bit like he’d wanted to say this for a long time, “It was actually more than a year ago. I don’t know how I managed to keep it hidden for so long. He doesn’t give Marks for them to be secret.”

She’d never heard a man of the cloth speak of the Outsider with such a lack of vitriol. Lucius sounded complacent, even considerate—something she’d never have expected. Billie drummed her fingers on the wheel, “In my experience, Marks usually make themselves apparent, whether we like it or not.” She thought of Emily first—a surprise of its own—crawling through the night towards her ship as a long, amorphous shadow creature, and then of the Lord Protector Corvo Attano, who’d flung his essence into rats to sneak through their headquarters in the Flooded District. Lastly, she thought of Daud, calling them to his side through the Void and, eventually, giving them the power to seek him through the Void themselves.

“Billie, are you Marked?” Lucius asked, before quickly raising his hands and shaking his head in apology, “I’m sorry, that isn’t a fair question at all, and it was rude of me to broach the topic.”

Billie couldn’t help it—she smirked, “Not anymore.”

Lucius’s eyes widened, and he moved a step closer to her, still giving berth to the wheel, “Is that possible? Could the Light—”

“What I don’t understand,” Billie interrupted, not wanting to begin that particular philosophical discussion without getting this question out of the way, “Is this ‘Light’ you keep referring to. You’re as good as Driscol-born, but I’ve never known anyone to talk about a Light, especially not anyone in the Abbey. They don’t take kindly to strangeness, I recall.”

“They don’t.” Lucius agreed delicately, turning his gaze out over the water once more. “I’m still uncertain why they let me nurture my faith in the first place. One of them called me an oracle, another, a prophet. Still others called me… far worse.” Despite his words, Lucius’s expression was sunny and placid—he spread his hands and finished, “I followed the teachings, and behaved as one should. Some treated me kindly, others less so. But once I found the Light inside me, and no one could quell it.”

Billie shrugged, tapping her fingers on the wheel and cocking her head to one side. “It’s not something I relate to.”

“Not many do.” Lucius gave a sole nod, going quiet again and placing his hands upon his own shoulders. He seemed clouded over now, his thoughts far away.

“What are you planning to do next?” Apparently startled, Lucius blinked at her, so Billie elaborated, “It sounds like you’ve had to think about living outside the Abbey before. So what are you going to do now?”

“Oh.” Lucius smiled before he seemed to catch himself, then looked further out to sea than before, as though he could see something—someone—Billie couldn’t. “I know a whaler. He used to talk about some kind of life outside the Abbey. In Driscol proper. I don’t know what he thought I’d do there, and he never talked about quitting the whaling industry, but I suppose that was the plan.”

“Driscol’s not so far off. A couple of days, maybe.” Maybe she didn’t want to leave him there, strictly, but she didn’t want to drag him on her wild goose chase, either. “If you’ve got an idea how to get a hold of him, I can drop you there. You know anyone else?”

“No, unfortunately not. But thank you, Billie, that is more than kindness enough.” Lucius bowed his head to her, something which made Billie exceedingly uncomfortable. “I was meant to drown. I’m not sure which deity sent you to me, but I suppose I must live the rest of my life thanking them both.”

“As long as you’re not thanking me.” Billie grumbled, meaning for the words to sound lighter than they did. Lucius laughed, the sound high and clear.

 

As it turned out, Lucius thanked her only once more: two days later, when the Dreadful Wale finally pulled into the port at Driscol. Her stocks were lower than they’d been in a long time, and despite the hungry ache in her stomach, Billie felt fuller than she had in a long time. As they both descended the boarding ramp, Billie spoke, awkwardly, “You’ll be all right, yeah?”

Still wearing the same plain Abbey clothes he’d insisted on, Lucius gave her a bright, warming smile, “Of course. I can navigate dry land well enough, and I don’t expect the Overseer here will have heard of me.”

Unbidden, that twinged a warning bell within her, and Billie laid a hand on his shoulder, “You’re sure? It sounds risky.”

Lucius gazed at her, saying nothing.

Billie released her grip, frowning. “What about your friend?”

“He thought something like this would happen eventually.” Lucius sighed then, not unkindly. “But I doubt he’ll have left word for me anywhere. He doesn’t think that way.” He folded his hands together; Billie noticed that his knuckles were pink around the edges, giving away a tension that wasn’t in his voice. “Light willing, the Abbey here will be safe enough to wait for him.”

“You’re…” Billie shook her head sharply, shoving her hand deep into her pocket. Moments like these, she missed having the second one available to show her temper. “Fine. Good luck, Lucius.”

Something behind his eyes had changed, and he seemed just a bit duller than he had for the last several days. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Billie interrupted him before he began.

“I could use another pair of hands.” Lucius blinked, astonished; Billie ploughed onwards, before she could realise what she was doing and shut herself up. “If the man you’re waiting for isn’t around and you go to the Abbey, like as not they’ll make sure you don’t come back a second time. You ought to _do_ something with your second chance.”

Lucius blinked once more before he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her fiercely; when he drew back, it was Billie’s turn to stare at him astonished. He smiled, the expression first weak but then sunny, and bowed his head to her. “Thank you, Billie. Something was kind when it made you the person who rescued me. Whatever it was, I am grateful. If you will have me, I will join you. Please.”

Billie shook her head once, then nodded, uncertain what to make of herself. Finally, roughly, she said, “Fine. Welcome aboard. But you’ll have to change your damn clothes.”

Like before, Lucius laughed, and this time, Billie laughed with him.


End file.
